


Second Star to the Right

by busaikko



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Blind Character, Hunting, Multi, Threesome, Threesome - F/M/M, Wincest - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-07-09
Updated: 2009-07-09
Packaged: 2017-10-19 22:11:14
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 793
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/205765
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/busaikko/pseuds/busaikko
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The car's going too fast, but it usually is when Jess is driving.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Second Star to the Right

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [There is a crack in everything (that's how the light gets in)](https://archiveofourown.org/external_works/3437) by beckaandzac. 



> In order to survive we steal cheat lie forge fred hide and deal  
> we are obscene lawless hideous dangerous dirty violent and young  
> but we should be together  
> Jefferson Airplane "We Should Be Together"

The car's going too fast, but it usually is when Jess is driving. Sam tries to relax as much as he can while sprawled out in the back seat. It's not exactly comfortable. He's not hurt any worse than on any other hunt; the main difference is that instead of Dean slapping duct tape over the gash on his arm he had Jess duct-taping a maxipad to him. He's real, real glad that Dean can't see that.

In the front, Jess is playing Jefferson Airplane too loudly, and she and Dean are singing along. They get into a real groove with _one pill makes you larger_ , and Dean busts up laughing when Jess lowers her voice and vamps Come Up the Years. Sam only joins them to shout _up against the wall, motherfuckers_ every now and then: that's about all the energy he has. The adrenaline's worn off, and he's bone weary.

But tonight was a good hunt. All Dean's research paid off; all Dean's training sessions with Jess; and all the hours Sam spent making sure that Dean was able to aim accurately on verbal commands because Dean punched him when Sam suggested staying at home or in the car. _I guess you're shooting rock salt, not bullets,_ Sam said, convincing himself. _Not like you could take our heads off_. _Not accidentally,_ Dean snapped back. Like all their recent weekend hunts, this had tested how they worked as a team. Sam had the biggest fuck-up of the night, letting the spirit throw him through a window.

Sam remembers how a year ago he'd been shocked to find out that Dean was training. These days he isn't even bothered when Dean and Jess have throwing star competitions in the hallway. He finds it comforting, in a perverse way. It feels like what he'd been hungry for all his life.

"You okay, Sammy?" Dean asks, hitching up on one hip to twist around. He has that line between his eyebrows that means he's straining to see.

Sam pushes up on his good arm and puts his other hand around Dean's jaw. "I'll need a couple stitches, maybe," Sam says, because Dean despises prevarications like _I'm fine_ or _It's okay_. "And I'm tired."

"Shouldn't have pulled those all-nighters, then," Dean says, smile stretching up against Sam's palm. "You've got bad time management skills." Sam can feel that he's making what Jess calls his epic bitch-face. He has bad time management skills because his weekends are spent hunting, so the part-time job that pays the rent and the bills is every weekday from four to ten. "Come on, Sammy," Dean says, reeling Sam in until he can kiss him deep and slow. "Come on."

"Almost home," Jess adds, taking one hand off the wheel to pet Sam's shoulders.

Sam knows that as soon as they're home Dean will have them all naked. Dean never says why he needs it, but Sam knows, and he thinks Jess does, too. She met their father that one time, up in Jericho: she's seen what hunting does to someone if it's not counterbalanced by some kind of celebration of life.

Dean will bury his face in Jess' breasts, lick and pinch nipples to hardness, slide down over a stomach that's gone from aerobics-fit to hunting-fit, and settle his mouth between Jess' thighs. Dean could stay there for hours -- days, if humanly possible -- and Sam guesses that he's pretty talented. Sam'll let Dean be greedy: he wants Dean's dick. He wants the hot weight of it in his hand while he sucks on Dean's balls, and he wants the wet slide of it across his cheek when he's forcing Dean to cool down and not come just yet. He wants Jess to pull him down by his hair -- that's why he keeps it long -- while he takes his time sucking Dean's dick in. He'll run his thumb down along behind Dean's balls and circle his opening and make Dean scream when he comes.

Jess is never that noisy: her orgasms are like she's breathing out their names and God's, all mixed together.

Sam has no idea who'll take care of him, Jess or Dean, but that's nothing he ever cares about. He knows that someone _will_ , knows that he'll be touched and kissed like he is now, knows that he'll fall asleep at Dean's left with his body fucked-out heavy and exhausted. That's what home means to him; it's what he needs but doesn't say, though he figures Jess and Dean hear him loud and clear anyway.


End file.
